


Witches Can't Fall in Love

by PumpkinDoodles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Weird Stuff Happens When You Mess With Time, Witch Darcy Lewis, Your Everyday Post-Endgame Bell Book and Candle Crossover AU, like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-04-23 15:13:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19153564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Undoing the Snap had some interesting consequences, Darcy Lewis knew, even if she wasn't quite sure where she wassupposedto be in 2019 before everyone moved those Infinity Stones around and changed things.But where she ended up wasn't so bad: running a used bookstore and working on her spell craft while she tells everyone that Thor's mother is her Aunt Frigga. It's true, more or less. Until her new upstairs neighbor presents...a complication.The post-Endgame/Bell, Book, & Candle AU that no one asked for.





	1. That Reiki Healer Next Door

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing! Minor spoilers for Endgame/mentions of the Infinity Stones reorienting the future, so everything's not quite the same.

He stood on the sidewalk across the street and looked at the two-story brick structure, wedged between a coffee shop and a small pharmacy. Brock’s new building was _interesting._ He’d only moved in last week, at Hill’s suggestion. Jane Foster owned it, having bought it with her science prize winnings and some Asgardian gold, probably. Now she was working on Asgard with the new co-monarchs, Hela and Thor. Foster wanted a secure person to take the second apartment and keep an eye on her assistant, Darcy Lewis. He’d been told Lewis was running a used bookstore in the ground level before he moved in. She lived behind the store and her aunt, a Frigga Lewis, lived across the hall from Brock’s new apartment upstairs. They were near one of DC’s universities, so students were everywhere. That made him slightly paranoid. He walked into the door that led to the staircase to his apartment.

Darcy was standing at the front of her store, visible through the adjoining door into the shop. Brock waved. She looked up from the stack of paperbacks she was sorting, then smiled brightly at him. She was an attractive woman, he thought. He stuck his head in. The shop was fairly quiet for the first time since he’d moved in. It was surprisingly busy most of the time. He’d wanted a moment to speak to her. “Hey,” he said. “Have a minute?”

“Sure,” she said.

“I just wanted to caution you about that bookshelf placement,” he said. “It blocks sightlines to the back of the store. You’d be safer with it sideways.”

“Oh,” she said. “I’m really very safe.”

“Nowhere is perfectly safe,” Brock said seriously. “I’m going to drop my groceries off upstairs and help you move that shelf,” he told her.

“Okay,” she said. There was an oddly amused glint in her eyes, he thought.

 

He made his way upstairs, carrying his produce and work files. He was unlocking the door when he heard a noise from inside. He drew his gun and eased the wooden door open slowly. Frigga Lewis was standing by his desk. Brock sighed in relief.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she told him, gesturing with one elegant arm, wreathed in tinkling bangles. “I heard a noise from your telephone device and came to investigate.”

“Through a locked door?” he said. Brock tried to hide his conviction that she was a strange woman. He had the oddest feeling whenever she was around. Frigga was only a little older than himself, but she wore floaty, old-fashioned dresses like Stevie Nicks in the seventies and Darcy had described her as “sort of a Reiki healer.” She certainly dressed like one; he could easily imagine her running some sort of hippie workshop. He'd heard chanting and odd sounds from her rooms. Strangely, she looked nothing like Lewis: her strawberry blonde hair was arranged in elaborate braids and updos, she was as slender as a model, and even taller than him by a fraction in heels. In contrast, Lewis was all curves, dark-haired, and quite petite. You couldn’t find two women less physically alike. But they both had canny ways of looking at you, he thought.

“I have a master key,” Frigga said. “From Darcy.”

“Ma’am,” he said politely. “I wish you wouldn’t come in unannounced, I came close to shooting you.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that, you’d never shoot an innocent person, Commander Rumlow,” she said, smiling in that maddeningly knowing way. “You’re reformed, after all.”

“Who told you that?” Brock said dryly. After Cap had pretended to be HYDRA in an elevator in 2012, there had been chaos in SHIELD. Eventually, he’d embarked on a long-con career as Fury’s inside man within HYDRA, been injured and faked his own death as Crossbones. When Barnes and Wilson explained that the injuries were somehow foretold, even if the timing had been different before, he’d shrugged. It was part of arc, his nonna would have said. Helen Cho had restored his old looks a few months ago. He was full circle, finally. Ready to move on, create a new life for himself.

“The inestimable Miss Hill,” she said. She circled his desk and peered at the framed photographs. “Are you truly engaged to Sharon Carter?” Frigga asked.

“I asked, she said yes,” Brock said. After Cap had disappeared, he and Sharon started dating.

“Hmmm,” Frigga said. “She’s all wrong for you.”

“You think so?” he said, setting down his groceries. She glided over to watch him as he unpacked them.

“Completely and utterly,” she said. “I have a gift for these things. My son, he gets it from me.”

“You have a son?” he said.

“Two boys,” she said. For a second, she looked less batty, he thought. Her entire face had gone soft. “My eldest is an excellent matchmaker. My younger son is more artistic. He takes after me, not either of his fathers.”

“Either of his fathers?” Brock said, baffled.

“My younger son is adopted,” Frigga said. She examined his tomatoes like they were new to her.

“I make red sauce,” he said dryly.

“How delightful,” she said, looking all canny again. “I’m afraid I don’t cook myself. My late husband was, well, very wealthy, so we always had someone in to do that. I’m quite at a loss in a kitchen. But darling Darcy has taught me the toaster and the coffee pot and the microwave.” She smiled proudly, as if this was a major accomplishment, so he nodded politely.

“I’m sure you’re adept,” he said. They stood in silence as he potted his new basil. He was going to make something for Sharon, if they could ever get their schedules to match up enough for an actual romantic evening.

“I do so wish you could see just how ill-matched you and Miss Carter are!” Frigga said suddenly. “She truly belongs with a man like that other fellow--oh, I forget his name, but he’s quite adorable. Curly hair, very cherubic and shy? That is, if she hews to men. I think she’d be _most_ happier with Maria, all things considered, but people here are so close-minded,”  the woman added. Brock stared.

“Sharon and Maria?” he said, raising an eyebrow. He’d stopped in the middle of unpacking his protein bars.

“Indeed, they would be an excellent match. We do not frown upon such relationships in A--my old place,” she said. “People are much more diverse in their manner of lovemaking.”

“Yeah,” Brock said, “sure.” He tried to keep his expression neutral.

“Well, I must go down and speak to Darcy,” she said,

“Tell her I’ll be down to move that shelf in a minute,” he said.

“Shelf?” she said, looking puzzled. “What shelf?”

“It blocks the sightlines from the front windows, it’s not safe for Darcy,” he explained. “The store is safer if you can see anyone at the register from the street. Robberies,” he clarified. Frigga blinked at him, then tilted her head.

“You really are a very charming man, to think of her safety,” she said.

“It’s my job?” Brock suggested mildly. Frigga merely laughed at him and departed.

 

Brock scratched his head. Hadn’t he locked that door when he came inside?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire mood of this fic is just Rene Russo doing that delighted little laugh she does in "The Thomas Crown Affair" whenever someone mentions her character getting in trouble for the things she does: 
> 
>  


	2. Dowager Queen of Asgard, Assistant Manager of the Used Bookstore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! Thanks for your kudos and comments!

“I quite like the new man upstairs,” Frigga announced to Darcy. Darcy looked up at Thor’s mother.

“Please tell me you haven’t been snooping?” she said. The former queen of Asgard was actually wildly nosy. “A little decorum, your highness.”

“Oh, nonsense,” she said, sitting in one of the bookstore’s chairs. “I’m just trying to help you. He is perfect for you!”

“What?” Darcy said. Behind her, the spoon in her coffee cup rotated as if moved by an invisible hand.

“He makes something called red sauce? What is that? Would you like it--” Frigga was saying, when Darcy interrupted.

“I thought you said witches couldn’t fall in love with regular people!” Darcy said. Her spoon clattered in its mug. She raised her voice to an urgent whisper. “That I had to give up on ever having a non-magical partner to learn Asgardian magic and spellwork,” she told Frigga.

“We aren’t precisely _witches,_ of course. Loki thinks that’s a slur, never call yourself a witch in front of him,” Frigga mused. She gestured airily. “But the old Norse term is quite untranslatable. I don’t mind witch, it has an interesting ring to it--”

“Frigga,” Darcy said.

“Well, darling, I confess that I lied to you,” Frigga said.

“You lied?” Darcy practically squealed. “I didn’t think you lied!”

“Well, Loki learned his good lies from me. Odin could never lie--not well. Heimdall and I found it rather amusing. But, at the time, I thought you and Loki might have a little romance? I merely meant it as a nudge,” she said. “Push you two together. You looked well as a pair. Both brunettes, both interested in magic, you and Jane practically sisters. It would have made for an excellent double-marriage.”

“Oh my God,” Darcy said.

“Gods and goddesses, darling, representation,” Frigga said. She frowned at Darcy’s cup as it floated to her. “Your cup is a little unsteady,” she told Darcy. Darcy reached out to grab it as it tilted dangerously.

“I’m preoccupied. So, I can date anyone?” Darcy said, astonished. “Without losing my abilities?” She studied her cup in amazement and took a sip. “I’d given up on dating after that last pagan!”

“Of course you can,” Frigga said enthusiastically. She perused one of the books as Darcy worked. “But you really should date him, his arms are lovely,” Frigga said. “So strong and muscular. And he cares for your safety already! That matters a great deal. As soon as his engagement ends…”

Darcy had been floating a book down from a high shelf. “He’s engaged? No, no, no,” Darcy said, magically setting down the book with a _plop._ “You cannot break up an engagement.” She pointed a finger at Frigga. “That’s bad magical ethics!”

“What are ethics to a life of happiness, darling?” she said. “I’m certain he and this Miss Carter are a dull match. She simpers in all the photos, but you can see the panic in her eyes.”

“Loki really does take after you,” Darcy said. “Up there, I didn’t realize it as much as I do now.” In response, Frigga tossed her head back and laughed.

“You are very sweet,” she said to Darcy.

“Don’t laugh, this is serious. You know that everything got all mixed up after the Avengers changed time and defeated Thanos, you can’t play with things too much. The fabric of time is...threadbare. Steve’s gone wherever he went, Clint and the Guardians are looking for Gamora and Natasha in space, things are different enough,” Darcy said. One of the reasons that Darcy had volunteered to learn magic was because of the relationship between Thanos-defeating time science and magical ability. The time science--Thor called it magic--had sapped some of the Earth’s natural energy and magical practitioners’ rituals helped with energetic renourishment. The Wakandans were the leaders of current efforts and miles beyond anyone else, but Darcy was helping in a small way. It was like planting trees for oxygen. The timelines were slightly wonky, Dr. Strange had explained to everyone in the Avengers’ circles, but most people’s memories had changed accordingly, so that it was 2019 and they had no memory of Thanos or the Snap.

“I am very aware of that, yes,” Frigga said, turning more stately for a moment. The Asgardians and Avengers involved could clearly remember events exactly as they had been--Frigga knew she, not Odin, had died in the old timeline, Hela had re-arrived much later, Loki and Heimdall had died, and there had been no Asgard any longer. Frigga thought it was lucky that very few people on Midgard truly understood the impact of their meddling with time. People were happy. The name Thanos meant nothing, was nothing, to most of them. She wished it still didn’t give her nightmares of losing Loki and her home.

 

But on the whole, it was pleasant to be here, pretending to be Darcy’s aunt and helping out with the books. Her widowhood had offered her a chance to be a new person as well. She missed Odin, but she was certain to see him in Valhalla one day. In the meantime, she was delighted to have both her sons, as well as a surly and sometimes diffident stepdaughter. Hela had exiled her in a tantrum when Frigga suggested that she act on her crush on Valkyrie, but on their last trip, had actually given her a hug. Frigga counted that as progress. Hela would come around. Life would be easier, however, if Hela and Loki weren’t quite so dramatic all the time, particularly at the same time. They’d apparently come to blows over play-staging for the first anniversary of Hela and Thor’s co-rulership. There had been hair-pulling. Thor had had to intervene. “Did I tell you Loki is coming for a visit?” Frigga said brightly.

“Please tell him to wear a disguise,” Darcy said, gesturing so that her books moved by themselves. He was technically still wanted.

“He knows,” Frigga said. “My son is very responsible, really.”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said skeptically. Frigga was still insisting that Loki had turned over a new leaf when a shadow fell over the doorway. It was Rumlow.

“I’m here to, uh, move that shelf?” he said.

“How wonderful,” Frigga said, beaming. “He’s concerned we’ll be robbed and murdered, darling.”

“Gee,” Darcy said. “Thanks for putting that vibe out there.”

“I didn’t mean,” Brock began, before he looked at Darcy. “You’re not wearing shoes?” he said.

“She hates them,” Frigga said.

“I have slip ons behind the register, if you’re terrified of toes,” she said dryly. She wiggled her feet. Her toes were painted with purple and silver glitter polish. They shown against her pale skin and the rug on the floor.

“No,” he said, “but let me get that shelf.”

“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” Frigga trilled at him. She stood and moved gracefully after Rumlow, sleeves floating behind her. “I can help with the shelf!”

 

***

“She’s really quite strong, your aunt,” Brock said to Darcy, once they’d had dinner. They were sitting on her couch. Frigga had left in the middle, with some excuse about a phone call from her son. It had dawned on Brock then that she was trying to set him up with Darcy. It was something about the way she’d turned on the electric fireplace and dimmed the lights in Darcy’s living area while they were laughing and getting dishes in the tiny kitchen. Also, the way she’d kept mentioning a particular restaurant as Darcy’s favorite, like he might need that information later.

“She’s very athletic and, um, tall?” Darcy offered. “Her sons are pretty fit, too. Muscle-y.” The candles made her pale skin look warm. Brock felt warm, too. Was it his imagination or did her gaze drift to his arms for a second, before she looked back at his face? Darcy bit her lip a little. Brock felt slightly transfixed. She really was a beautiful woman, he thought. She reminded him of an old-fashioned movie star. Her full mouth, the curly hair, the voluptuous figure, everything about her was incredibly feminine and just, well, lush. It was rare, that kind of beauty in combination with the ability to make jokes about Fury.

“More wine?” he offered, then thought _where did that come from?_ He ought to be leaving, heading up to his own bed, calling Sharon, not having persistent thoughts about Darcy Lewis’s body. Or tangling his hands in her hair.  

“Thank you,” she said, smiling at him as he added to her glass. Brock felt his pulse skip and knew---without a doubt---that he was in danger. He needed to leave. He didn’t need to spend more time with Darcy, even if she had a great mouth, she smelled like vanilla, and made him laugh. He was engaged to Sharon. He gripped the wine bottle, realized what he was doing, then set it down again with a sigh.

“I should go,” he announced.

“Okay,” she said, smile dimming. “I had a great dinner, Brock. You make a great red sauce.”

“Not everybody appreciates my nonna’s recipe,” he joked, standing up slowly. God, she was pretty, he thought wistfully. Then shook his head a fraction. _Pull yourself together,_ Brock scolded.

“I always appreciate pasta. House rule,” Darcy said, following him to the door at the front of the shop. “Goodnight,” she said. She leaned against the door frame and watched him. Those blue-green eyes were sparkling. She smiled at him again.

“Goodnight,” he told her, swallowing. It was difficult to step backwards and go upstairs to his empty apartment. He looked over his shoulder until she disappeared back inside. "Goodnight," he repeated.

 

Then he stood in his darkened living room alone and sighed. Brock could smell sandalwood incense drifting in from Frigga's apartment.


	3. Emotional Bidding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for you comments and kudos!

Darcy shivered as she shut the door. It wasn’t just the November cold that had gotten under her skin. Brock Rumlow was there, too. She could hear his footsteps on the stairs, the squeak of wood. _Thump-squeak thump-squeak thump-squeak._ She tried not to free associate between that sound and other, more suggestive sounds. Damn Frigga for putting the idea in her head! He’d just been an attractive guy before, but Frigga had introduced possibility. Possibility was practically temptation. It invited Darcy to really study him. He had a wonderful, amusing personality. And so many attractive attributes. The thick hair ( _so good to run your hands through_ \--), the beautiful eyes ( _you could lose yourself in those eyes, that soft amber brown with flecks of green--_ ), the sheepish smile, the stunning arms _(strong arms, her mind swooned--_ ). Now she was practically enchanted. Damn it!

Darcy sighed.

From the back of the building, there was a jangling sound. A cat wearing a belled collar appeared. “Hello, Pyewacket,” Darcy said. The Siamese meowed. Well, technically, she took the form of a Siamese, but her skills were more diverse. Pye had been a gift from Jane before she left for Asgard, but Darcy knew Loki had chosen her. She'd jokingly named her after the witch's movie cat in _Bell, Book, & Candle. _ Darcy crossed back to her living room and sat on the couch. Pye followed. She listened to Pyewacket purr in her lap and watched the fire. She would shake this infatuation, she thought firmly. Not meddle. Not at all. There were love spells, of course, but they were risky. And truly stupid. And dangerous. She wouldn’t be doing anyone a favor, being stupidly dangerous with her magic. It would be embarrassing if Stephen Strange had to give her a lecture, too. 

She was still sitting there when her front door bell rang. The cat jumped down and dashed to the door meowing noisily. Darcy followed her, shooed Pyewacket so she wouldn’t dash off, and went barefoot into the hall and opened the front door. She recognized the figure behind the frosted glass door. “Hello,” she said, as the door opened. He looked up. He’d turned up the collar of his coat so it brushed against his curls. He’d taken to wearing his hair blonde and short, curly like Frigga’s. It was a sweet-natured tribute, as long as you ignored that his ongoing wanted status on Earth meant his original appearance was, well, problematic. But he was quite handsome as a blonde with a faintly British accent. “New three piece suit?” Darcy asked. He dressed well, now that he understood Midgardian dress.

“Yes, darling,” Loki said, smiling his cat’s smile. “Ah, clever little Pyewacket! I was summoned--” he said stepping inside and going into the bookstore.

“Your mother told me you were visiting,” Darcy said on his heels.

“I had planned that, yes, but I hurried over because the cat told me you were contemplating a love spell on the upstairs neighbor, baby cousin,” he said archly.

“Shhhhh,” Darcy said. “He’ll hear you!” She looked up at the ceiling in alarm.

“Oh, you _do_ like him! Mama will be delighted,” Loki said, sounding for the world like a Jane Austen character. “She loves a romance.” He picked up the antique style desk phone that Darcy kept by the register as the store’s landline. “Mama! I am downstairs. No, no, I didn’t interrupt the lovers--he was already gone,” he snickered. Pye hopped on the desk to be petted. “She is blushing like mad,” he said. “Quite entirely smitten. I think I should be called Luki, if we are introduced, yes. Pretend we’re Swedes. That is right, isn’t it?” he asked Darcy. “Swedes?”

“Oh, for the love of the goddesses,” Darcy muttered. Loki winked, still on the phone with Frigga upstairs.

A few moments later, Frigga was swooping down in her silk pajamas to hug her son and Darcy let some of her ire bleed away in the face of their mutual joy at being together again.

 

***

“Where are we going? Does it have to be somewhere new?” Sharon said to Brock. He frowned at her. They’d parked and were walking along the sidewalk.

“What? You don’t want to try someplace new?” he said. He thought it was a good idea to stay out of Darcy’s way. It might discourage Frigga, too. She’d beamed at him in the hallway this morning and asked if they’d had a nice meal. He’d said yes--and then fled to work.  “I’ve heard good things. It’s my neighbor’s niece’s favorite place,” Brock told Sharon.

“We’re lost,” Sharon complained. “And it’s cold.”

“Hold on,” he said. “This is the block. Brasserie Rose.” Brock spotted the painted front of the restaurant. Frigga had mentioned it several times. “Here we are,” he told Sharon, taking her elbow.

“Here we are,” Sharon repeated dryly.

It was a very romantic restaurant, Brock thought, looking around after they were seated. Just the kind of place you went on a date. Tea lights on the tables, low lighting, soft music. But this place was just a little more atmospheric and dreamy. He smiled at Sharon. Tried to engage her. His therapist--he sometimes asked his work therapist for advice about them--had said he should try to engage her in conversation, if he felt there was distance. “Bids,” the therapist called it, when you tried to connect with a partner. They needed to up their rate of completed bids, i.e., when one made a bid for attention and the other responded. He’d decided to try that tonight. “What do you think?” he asked Sharon.

“I didn’t think you liked nice restaurants that weren’t Italian,” she said, rolling her eyes. That stung a little. He found himself recoiling slightly. He paused as the waiter arrived.

“Would you like wine?” he asked them.

“Yes,” Sharon said immediately. “I definitely need wine.”

“Is something wrong?” Brock cut in.

“I’ll give you a minute,” the waiter said smoothly, stepping away. Sharon made a noise of discontent, shaking her head.

“What’s going on with you?” Brock said, leaning forward.

“I’m tired, I’m cold, and I really need a glass of wine, okay?” Sharon said, leaning in and lowering her voice. “I just got back from overseas and I’d like to be vegging out on the couch and not thinking about anything more taxing than where the remote is in my blanket, but you wanted to go to dinner. So I said, okay, fine, let’s go to dinner. But you’re obviously trying to be Mr. Romantic and I am just not--” she stopped, shaking her head.

“Not what?” he whispered softly, blinking at the onslaught of words.

“I don’t have the energy,” she said, looking suddenly teary. “I’m exhausted, Brock. I don’t have the energy to eat some fancy complicated meal and pretend I understand what the fuck tarragon is and talk about how the wine tastes like peaches and floral notes. I can’t do the whole romance thing when I’m like this--all I want to do is lie down somewhere with a bag of Pop Secret and watch, I dunno, John Mulaney. Something easy.”

“Okay,” he said calmly. “We’ll get out of here, go to my place, your place, whatever.” Sharon sighed.

“I’m not interested in sex tonight, so if you’re thinking--” she said bluntly, before a voice called his name.

“Commander Rumlow!” a soft voice trilled. Brock’s head turned. Frigga Lewis had just come into the restaurant, followed by Darcy and a tall man in a heavy coat.

“Shit,” he muttered to Sharon. “These are my new neighbors.”

 


	4. Dinner, Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your kudos and comments!

Sharon immediately pulled herself together, doing a trick he recognized as her  “Peggy Carter’s grand-niece and Agent 13 of SHIELD and the CIA” face. “This is Frigga Lewis,” Brock told Sharon. “Her niece, Darcy, and, uh, we haven’t met?” he said to the blonde man. The man smiled, lifted Sharon’s hand to lips, and practically purred.

“Luki Lewis,” he said, blue eyes locked on Sharon. She looked slightly embarrassed.

“Hello,” Sharon said in a voice that Brock knew was slightly false, but read as friendly and sociable. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Why don’t we all sit together?” Frigga said.

“Sure,” Sharon said politely. Brock could tell she was going through the motions. He nodded. He’d make it a quick dinner, he thought. In due course, the five of them were moved to a bigger table.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy whispered to him. “We crashed your romantic date.”

“It’s okay,” he said, “really. You’re not interrupting. This is okay.” Frigga was complimenting Sharon on her dress across the table and Luki was ordering wine. “That’s your cousin?” Brock whispered to Darcy. “Interesting name.”

“Some of our relatives are Scandinavian,” Darcy supplied, as the waiter came over to take their order. Brock grinned and then had to hide his smile. It was an unusual evening. Luki Lewis was an exceptionally strange man, although he told stories about his travels that were amusing. He was a stage actor, he explained, as they ate.

“Hence the accent,” he said. “My training.” He touched his shirt front delicately.

“He’s very dedicated to his craft,” Frigga said. Brock could tell she adored her son.

“I think I’ve been pretending to be other people all my life,” he said grandly.

“Luki,” his mother said gently. “You know that isn’t true.” Brock caught Darcy rolling her eyes. She mouthed the word “dramatic” at Brock and he grinned.

“My father and I never saw eye to eye. Nothing in common,” Luki told Sharon.

“He is, however, his mother’s favorite,” Darcy said.

“Darcy!” Frigga said. “I love both my children. Equally.” Darcy snorted into her wine.

“You love this one a little more equally is all,” Darcy said. “Admit it. His brother isn’t here.”

“I love both of them, we just have more shared interests and hobbies, his older brother had more interests in common with his father,” Frigga said.

“I will have to mention that on my next visit,” Luki said wryly. They were still discussing their shared hobbies when Darcy got up to go the ladies room. Brock had to pry his eyes away from her figure as she moved between tables. The warm feeling in his abdomen was faintly shameful.

“She taught me some tricks when I was young,” Luki said. Then he pulled two fresh flowers out of his sleeve and presented one to his mother and one to Sharon.

“Thanks,” Sharon said. “That’s an interesting trick.”

“I know all kinds,” Luki said flirtatiously. Brock normally would have been jealous, but half his mind was on Darcy’s red dress, he thought guiltily. He tried not to show his attraction to her as they ate. This wasn’t what he had planned for his evening.

“Well,” Sharon said, as they finished their entrees, “I am just beat.” Brock knew that cue. Brock could tell Sharon was bored as they left the restaurant.

“You okay?” he asked. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

“I just want to fall into bed,” she said. “My bed.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he said dryly. “I’ll drop you off at home.”

 

 

***

“Well, that was a curious evening,” Loki said, after they’d had dessert and paid their bill. They’d called an Uber. “Miss Carter seemed terrifically bored with your new neighbor, Mama.” Frigga nodded.

“Disconnected,” Frigga said. “Completely estranged.”

“You’re exaggerating. Brock told me she just got back in town,” Darcy said, looking down the sidewalk outside the restaurant. “Maybe she was just tired.”

“Nonsense,” Loki said. “I think I shall go somewhere fun instead of the apartments. Mother, will you join me?”

“I’ll go with you,” Frigga said. “Darcy?”

“I’m going home,” Darcy said. “My shoes pinch. But you have fun.”

“You are lying, you merely dislike shoes,” Loki said.

“Don’t harass her,” Frigga scolded gently. “We will see you at home, Darcy.” Her smile was beatific. The Uber pulled up.

“I know he’s your favorite!” Darcy called back after she’d crossed to get in the car. Down the street, Loki was making the street lamps go off and on. Frigga merely laughed.

“Your friends are interesting,” her driver said.

“Extremely,” Darcy said, gazing out the window as they pulled away.

When she came inside the building, a t-shirt and sweatpants-clad Rumlow appeared at the top of the steps. She caught the fractional movement as he stowed his gun in a hidden holster behind his back. “It’s just me!” Darcy called. “You must run warm, it’s freezing out there.”

“Yeah,” he said. To her surprise, he came down the steps, checked the door, and turned to look at her.

“I did lock it,” she said. “Early night?”

“Something like that,” he said “Sharon was tired, wanted to turn in early.” His expression was serious. He raked a hand through his hair. The motion sent a cowlick in the opposite direction from the rest of his hair. It was very tempting to touch it, Darcy thought. “I should go,” he said. “Reports.”

“Hold on,” she said. She reached up very carefully and pressed the strand of hair back into alignment with the rest. “That was going to drive me crazy all night,” she said. His eyes were locked on her face. “Wouldn’t have been able to sleep, knowing it was misbehaving like that,” she told him.

“Uh-huh,” he said.

“Did you want a drink?” she offered. “I’m not tired.”

“Not tired?” he repeated.

“Nope,” she said, shaking her head. He seemed to track the motion of her face. Those eyes of his, she thought. She shivered a little.

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re cold. We should get you that drink.”

They sat on her couch together, drinking coffee laced with liqueur. He taught her an Italian recipe. “It’s no big thing,” he said modestly. “But you know”--he looked at his cup--”it always reminds me of the holidays, because it’s my Ma’s favorite.”

“Does she live around here?” Darcy asked.

“New York,” he said. “I get up there as much as I can. With things--things like they were,” he said, “I’m glad to have her back. Or so I'm told.” He meant the Snap, Darcy realized. His mother must've been Snapped in the first timeline.

“Why not live closer?” she said. “Family’s important.” She missed Jane on Asgard. Or the alcohol was making her sad. It was difficult to tell. She did miss Jane, though. So much. But Jane sent her happy emails almost daily. Today, there'd been a small, besotted essay email about SoulForges and Thor's abs.

“I live as close as I can for a fifty year old man with no wife and no kids,” he said wryly.

“Fifty?” she said, shocked. “Fifty?!”

“You don’t have to say it like that,” he grumbled. Darcy laughed.

“It’s a compliment. I’d have guessed forty at the high end. What are you, a witch or something?” she said, giggling. That was when she knew she was well and truly drunk. When she made witch jokes. He leaned his head against the back of her sofa, laughing and watching her. The atmosphere in the room was oddly heavy, Darcy thought. Like you could doze off and wake up somewhere else entirely. Music drifted faintly down from Frigga's apartment. 

“I sold my soul to the devil,” he joked. But there was something in his eyes. He breathed slowly. He was watching her again. “Why didn’t you go out with your aunt and your cousin?” he said.

“I don’t know,” she said. She didn’t. Darcy looked down at her bare feet. “And my shoes pinched.”

“Your shoes pinched,” he said, giving her a frankly dopey grin as he laughed. “You really don’t like shoes.”

“You’re drunk,” she said.

“Possibly,” he said. He closed his eyes.  For just a second, she wanted him to be hers. All hers. She wanted him to love her. A stupid thought. But she was too late to pull it back when it bubbled up out of her heart with force. It was foolish, she knew. But it was a wish. And wishes were powerful.

On the chair, Pyewacket cried loudly and then took off for the cat door in the kitchen. “No,” Darcy said. “Pyewacket! Damn!”

“What?” Rumlow said groggily.

“My cat just got the wrong idea,” she said. He started to laugh again.

“Oh, yeah? How’s that work?” he asked.

“This is not funny,” Darcy said, turning her head to look at him. “She thinks I want you to be in love with me!”

“Do you?” he said, sitting up slightly. He looked more alert, despite the heaviness of his eyelids.

“Drink your coffee,” she said, avoiding his gaze. She expected him to pass out again. It startled her when he pried the cup from her hand and pulled her into his lap.

“You want me?” he said. She was trying to avoid the intensity of his eyes, but he cupped her chin, so she had to look at him.

“Do you?” His voice was soft.  

“Mmm,” she said noncommittally. He leaned forward, fingers running over her hair.

“You’re not going to tell me?” he asked, licking his lips.

“What good would it do?” she whispered. Darcy felt transfixed. She knew she should move, mention his fiancee, not give into the atmosphere between them. He moved towards her slowly, his breathing soft and even. She didn’t say no.

 

The first touch of his lips was soft, but soon he was clutching her neck to pull her down to him.


	5. My Cat May Have Done Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

It was difficult for Darcy to resist him when all she wanted to do was melt into his arms. “This is very wrong,” she said breathlessly, when he stopped sucking on her top lip.

“Really?” he said. “I can’t think why, sweetheart.” His voice was mild. But he’d tightened his grip. “Don’t go nowhere,” he said.

“Mmmm,” she repeated, giving into the urge to kiss him again and run her fingers through his hair. She felt him grin against her mouth as his fingers crept under her blouse. Those fingers were calloused, but gentle. She reached down and lifted her shirt over her head. Brock inhaled sharply. His eyes roamed over her body greedily, then his hands followed, unhooking the clasp of her bra and easing the straps down. He leaned forward. Darcy moaned as his tongue pressed against her skin and her nipple hardened in response. He glanced up at her, eyes intense. She felt warmth pooling between her legs. When she moaned, he actually smirked at her and sucked harder. Trembling slightly, she scratched her nails through the clipped hair at the back of his head, raking her fingers forward.

“That’s nice,” he said with a groan.  He pressed a kiss between her breasts, too. She didn’t say no then, either. “You’re sweating,” he teased. He flicked his eyes between her body and her face with a seductive expression. “Where’s your bed?”

“You’re in it,” she told him, meaning the wide, low couch. She slept here. Brock laughed.

“Good,” he said, reaching for the edge of her pants. She smothered the impulse to be better and kissed him instead. 

He flicked his tongue against her mouth and she melted into his touch. She’d expected him to be frantic, maybe even rough, but he was surprisingly languid. He scattered kisses over her body, then smiled up at her. It was an easy, relaxed smile. “Let’s get the rest of these clothes off, huh?” he suggested.

“Yes,” she said, feeling a strange euphoria. He eased her clothes off as if he was in no hurry at all. He stroked down her legs. Cupped her calves to playfully kiss a bruise on her knee.

“What happened, baby?”

“Counter bruise,” she whispered. “Occupational hazard.” He shook his head. Tanned fingers explored her curves gently. “Mmm,” she said, as he pressed kisses high on the inside of her thighs.

“Your skin is so soft,” he said, a rapt note in his voice. If his fingers were tender, his eyes were intense.

“Are you still drunk?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he said. He moved so his weight was on top of her. Then he leaned in and kissed her mouth slowly, never breaking eye contact. “Do you mind?”

“No.” She shook her head. She was completely captivated by him. She felt warm and relaxed, as if he’d kissed all tension out of her body.

“You want me, huh?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

 

 

They were curled together in the morning when he sighed. “Awake?” she said carefully.

“I’m happy,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve felt this happy in years.” He dropped a kiss on her shoulder.

“Not guilty?” Darcy said. He should feel guilt, she thought. She glanced across the living room. A purring Pyewacket watching them with half-closed eyes. That set off alarms in her mind. She looked at Brock’s eyes. His expression was warm. There was no angst in it. Darcy traced her fingers over his stubble.

“What about you?” he said. “How do you feel?”

“I--last night,” she began, hesitating. She wanted to say, _I think we were under a spell. My cat may have done something. She’s not a normal cat._ But her sentences died when he looked sad.

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel it, too,” he said, so gently that she nodded.

“No,” she said, “I know what you mean. I’m happy, too.”

“Good,” he said, giving her a wide, beaming smile. It changed his whole face, she thought. “C’mere,” he said, beckoning her for another kiss. This time, she shook her head.

“Brock,” Darcy said. “Sharon.” He sat up and rubbed a hand across his jaw.

“I forgot about Sharon,” he said. He shook his head and whistled. “Totally fucking forgot,” he said. He looked at her. “You got under my skin,” he said, expression wry.

“See,” Darcy said, wondering if he could feel the spell, even if he didn’t know it. He was an astute person. She’d seen him eyeing Loki as if he couldn’t quite place him. “I know this is confusing,” she began, “but--” He was already moving, putting his feet on the floor.

“You seen my shirt?” he asked, as he picked his pants up off the floor.

“Over there,” she said, feeling her stomach sink. He looked serious. Brock turned his head. He smiled.

“I’ll go tell her today,” he said. “End things.”

“What?” Darcy said, shocked.

“Don’t worry,” he said mildly. “She won’t shoot me, I don’t think.”

 

***

“What have you done?” Darcy said to Pyewacket, tromping up the stairs to see Frigga. The photographs hanging on the wall wiggled with her anxiety. Pyewacket’s tail twitched. She walked into the apartment opposite Brock’s without knocking. Frigga came out of the kitchen looking bright.

“Hello, darling, would you like toast?” she said.

“I need your help!” Darcy wailed, depositing the cat on the gold and apricot striped sofa.

“With toast?” Frigga said, evidently puzzled. She floated several pieces out on plates.

“Pyewacket. I think she put a spell on us,” Darcy said, pacing. The cat blinked. A plate followed Darcy as she walked circles around the couch.

“A spell?” Frigga said, tilting her head.

“I slept with Brock last night,” Darcy said. “Now he’s going to break up with Sharon--”

“Oh, how delightful,” Frigga said. “I think that is truly the best outcome, my dear.”

“No, no, he should feel guilty! Why doesn’t he feel guilty?” Darcy fretted. “He’s too calm. It’s unnatural!” Frigga laughed.

“You are quite agitated enough for both of you,” she said, patting Darcy’s shoulder. “Calm yourself.”

“How am I going to tell him?” Darcy said. “It’s not like I can keep my magic from him, anyway. But if he knows the beginning of the relationship was--was--maybe a trick, he’ll never forgive me,” she said. She plopped down next to Pyewacket and took a slice of toast off the floating plate. “Thank you,” she murmured. The plate waved a little.

“How long will he be with Sharon, I wonder?” Frigga said. “Perhaps an activity would be nice?”

“What kind of activity?” Darcy asked.

“I had planned to meet Loki. Would you like to come as well?” she said.

“Where did he sleep last night?” Darcy wondered aloud.

“I believe he met someone,” Frigga said, shrugging. She gestured and a watering can floated into the room. “Let me just water these plants and we’ll be on our way.”

“I need to change,” Darcy said. She was wearing last night’s clothes. She snapped her fingers and was wearing a different outfit.

“Your socks don’t match,” Frigga said. One had a print of cookies, the other, books.

“I can never find matching socks when I’m stressed,” Darcy grumbled. “Oh, thank you.” A travel mug of coffee had appeared at her elbow.

“Couldn’t hurt,” Frigga said. The apartment door swung open.

“You’re not coming?” Darcy said to Pye. The cat swished its tail and remained on the sofa.

“Very well,” Frigga said, shutting the door.

 

***

Brock drove over to Sharon’s with a strange feeling in his stomach. He got out of the car and stretched his legs. Then he turned and looked at Sharon’s apartment window. “No time like the present,” he said to himself. He crossed the street.

 

She answered the door. “Hey,” she said. “I’m just headed out to work.” She was putting on a jacket.

“I need to have a word,” he said.

“Really?” she said, checking her watch. “I have a meeting with the assistant director for Near Eastern Affairs.”

“I’ll be quick,” he said, “but I don’t want to do this in the hallway.”

“Fine,” she said, standing aside so he could come in.

“Sharon,” he said. “I’m sorry, I really am, but, uh, I--” he said. Paused. Swallowed. “I can’t marry you,” he told her. She looked at him and rocked back slightly. “You can keep the ring,” he added. “Sell it, have it made into something else, whatever you want to do with it.”

“You’re just ditching me? Out of the blue?” she said.  He was pale and sheepish-looking.

“I’m sorry, I really am. You know we haven’t been on the same page and I thought it was just the way things are now, that distant feeling. Or it was work.. But I met someone and she’s--she’s the one. When you know, you know, Shar.”

“Get out of my apartment,” she said, swinging the door open.

“Sharon,” Brock said softly.

“Get. Out.”

 

A fuming Sharon stopped for coffee on her way to Langley. “I cannot believe that asshole!” she grumbled to herself. “At eight-thirty in the morning! He just stops by to say, _oh, I’ve met somebody!”_ She was so angry that she slammed her car door a little. Then she realized the tie to her coat was stuck in the door.

“Assholes!” she muttered, yanking at the coat. “The whole world is full of assholes!”

“Are you all right, Miss Carter?” a smooth voice said. She turned. Luki Lewis was standing in the parking lot with a tray of coffees.

“My coat is caught in the door,” Sharon said slowly.

“How unfortunate,” he said. “May I assist?”

“I--I need to unlock the car,” she began, but to her surprise, he simply unthreaded the tie from her jacket.

“Much simpler,” he said smoothly. “Would you like one of these? I usually purchase an extra for whomever is working at Darcy’s?” he added, handing her a coffee.

“Thank you,” Sharon said. It was a good latte.

“Now,” he said, twisting his wrist. The tie fell out of her car door. “Et voila!” he said. “Better?”

“Marginally, thank you,” she said. “Brock dumped me this morning, so this is just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.”

“Oh,” he said. “I am sorry.”

“Why should you be sorry?” she said. “You don’t even know us.” He shrugged.

“It’s the polite thing to say?” he said. “Besides, I’m terrifically afraid my mother meddled and is the one responsible for this.”

“How?” Sharon said.

“She thinks my cousin and your former fiance are destined to be lovers,” Luki said.

“Fantastic,” Sharon said sarcastically.

“Again, I am sorry,” Luki said.

“I’m not surprised, he was totally drooling over her last night,” Sharon said. “The asshole.”

“You’re pleasantly abrasive today,” Luki said. He grinned.

“It’s a family trait, being able to call bullshit on a man. I get it from my Aunt Peggy,” Sharon explained. “I know who you really are. You’re not an actor, you’re an Asgardian.”

“Whatever would make you think that?” he said casually.

“I did theater in school. Every theater kid knows that ‘the course of true love never did run smooth’ is _Midsummer Night’s Dream,_ not _Romeo and Juliet,_ ” Sharon said. She pointed accusingly. “You’ve never done Shakespeare in your life!”

“No, I confess I have not,” he said grinning wildly. “But I do appreciate the theater. I’ve done a little playwriting.”

“I loved theater,” Sharon said, shaking her head. “That was what I wanted to major in.”

“But you didn’t?” he said.

“No, my parents were insistent that I live up to the family legacy, work for SHIELD. I did coursework in forensic accounting and Mandarin instead,” she grumbled. “And now I can’t keep a relationship alive and I’m twenty minutes late for work and I don’t even care.” She said it savagely. It made him smile.

“How dreary,” Luki said. “I’m familiar with such planning. One sometimes doesn’t choose one’s career in my world, either.”

“I would have been a damn good actress,” Sharon said. “It’s just so frustrating! They push you and push you and push you to be a certain way and then whine that you’re no fun.” She did air quotes: “Why aren’t you fun, Sharon? Why are you tired all the time? Why did you kiss your Aunt Peggy’s husband under an overpass?” Luki threw back his head and laughed.

“Certainly, you aren’t the first woman to kiss Captain Rogers,” he said.

“No shit, right? No shit! Ughhh, it’s so frustrating,” she said. “Ditched again! You know, he just bailed on me for another woman, too? At least this isn’t my aunt.”

“It must be very difficult to explain at parties,” Luki said dryly.

“Exactly! And I just feel like I’m the responsible person who just constantly gets overlooked in favor of women who are more glamorous like Aunt Peggy,” she said. “Or have giant breasts!” She crossed her arms and sighed.

“As it happens, I understand that feeling especially well,” he said. She looked at him curiously. His expression was adorably vexed, Sharon thought.

“That older brother? Dad’s favorite?” she said. He nodded.

“His breasts are quite large also,” Luki said. “Great ox of a man, absolutely zero refinement. He throws plates.” He winked. Sharon dissolved into laughter.

“Thank you for validating my reality,” she said with a laugh. They stood for a moment, smiling at each other. “They have plays on Asgard?” she asked.

“They do, in fact. Who is it you think I am?” he said. He was curious.

“Your mother--who is clearly your mother, you can’t fake that face she makes when she looks at you--has obviously been sent by Thor to guard Darcy. You’re palace guards,” she said. “Or she is. She’s watchful and carries herself like someone who can fight. And she’s got some sort of a single-stick type weapon under her clothes.”

“A retractable blade, actually,” he said, shrugging. “I do apologize for the subterfuge.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Sharon said. “Obviously, it’s a diplomatic issue. She’s no threat to anyone who doesn’t want to harm Darcy. I’m practical.”

“A pity,” he said. At her raised eyebrow, he continued. “That you do not get to be more impractical. Would you perhaps like to attend a play with me? As a friend?” he added, seeing her expression shift.

“As a friend, yes,” she said.

“I’d like to make some while I am here,” he said dryly. “I’ll send you tickets this afternoon?”

“Yeah,” Sharon said.

“This may be impolitic,” he said, “but my mother _is_ a very good matchmaker. She has a gift. If she has anyone in mind for you, they would doubtless be suitable--” he began. She waved a hand.

“Too soon, Asgard!” Sharon said. “Just for that, I’m taking another coffee.” She swiped another off the tray and got in her car.

 

He smiled wryly. He thought Sharon Carter would be a pleasantly sarcastic friend. Then he magicked up a replacement coffee.


	6. Prepared for Mutual Panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos.

They went to a new age shop. Several, actually. Frigga wanted more candles and incense. She‘d been doing regenerative chanting for Midgard, she explained. “I’ll need to be quieter with Brock there,” she said. The mention of his name sent Darcy fretting again.

“I can’t believe I did that!” Darcy said to Frigga. “That’s not like me. I mean, I did kiss Ian during the Dark Elves thing, but other than that—and I did kiss Captain America on a dare once,” she added. “But I’ve never been an accessory to cheating before.” Her phone beeped and she looked down, scanning a text message. “He’s headed into work, but he wants me to know he and Sharon are over?”

“Good,” Frigga said, smiling. “Even if I did not want him with you, that’s still a good thing.”

“You sounded just like Martha Stewart,” Darcy said.

“Hmm?” Frigga said, picking up a candle.

“I actually stole a man. This is going to be hell on my karma,” Darcy said.

“I’m sure you didn’t steal a man who didn’t _want_ to be stolen,” Frigga said. “These things happen. It doesn’t mean your relationship is karmically burdened. I met Odin because he was courting my cousin Helga.”

“What?” Darcy said.

“They were quite ill-suited, it was for the best. Odin wouldn’t have wanted to spend a thousand years with a woman whose primary interest was breeding Asgardian thoroughbreds and Helga would have smited him for all the trouble he put Sleepnir through. Many times, I was all that stood between him and the wrath of Helga’s horsewhip,” she said.

“Your cousin was going to beat up the All-Father?” Darcy said.

“Horsewomen are not to be trifled with,” Frigga said. “They are habitually fearless. Oh, look, here’s Loki!”

 

He came strolling into the shop with a grin. “Mama, I have the most delightful plan,” he announced. “You will be thrilled, I’m certain.”

“Oh, no,” Darcy said.

“Why must you be so skeptical?” Loki asked. “Especially since it will benefit you and your new--what’s the right word? Paramour? Gentleman friend?” he said.

“None of those are right,” Darcy said, torn between guilt and the fluttery feeling in her chest whenever she thought about Brock. Frigga merely smiled.

“What is your plan, Loki?” she asked. He preened slightly; he loved when people were interested in his plans, Darcy knew.

“I have become theater friends with Miss Carter.”

“Theater friends?” Darcy said. “What does that mean?”

“We are attending a play together,” he said.

“Not a play you wrote, I hope,” Darcy muttered, turning to the incense shelf.

“I will ignore that,” Loki said.

“That sounds very nice,” Frigga said.

“You approve? Excellent. I have an eye to making her a friend _and_ perhaps match-making,” he said. “Who is the one you think she would look so well with?”

“Maria Hill,” Frigga said. “A very beautiful couple.”

“Hmm. Should I invite Maria to the play as well?” he said. Loki put his hands behind his back, thinking. Frigga frowned.

“I’m not sure the timing is ideal,” she said.

“Perhaps not so soon?” Loki added. His mother nodded.

“We should consult the cards about timing,” Frigga said.

“Also, the phases of the moon in this realm have a profound effect on Midgardians, it is utterly strange,” he said, as they walked to another part of the store.

“I have yet to discover what they mean by Mercury in retrograde,” Frigga said. “Do you know?”

“That planet?” he said. “How baffling.”

“None of this is useful magical regeneration,” Darcy called.

  
  
***

But it wasn’t like she could argue with them, Darcy thought, back at the bookstore. She’d put on some music and was looking over her accounts. A shadow fell over her as she flipped a page and she jerked her head up. “Brock!”

“Hey,” he said warmly.

“How’d you get in here?” she said. She had locked the door, she thought.

“I’m a SHIELD agent, remember? I snuck in,” he said. He came over and slid behind her, brushing her hair aside and kissing her neck. “You are so beautiful, you know that?” he said.

“Mmmm,” she said, relaxing into his touch. It was impossible not to relax whenever he was around. Whatever magic Pye had worked, it made Darcy feel warm and blissed out whenever Brock got near her. She felt the book next to her levitate slightly in response to her mood and had to think _stop that._

“Been thinking about you all day,” he said in her ear. His breath ghosted over her earlobe. She shivered.

“Oh, you shouldn’t do that,” she complained, rolling her head back. The pages under her fingers shuffled a little. _How odd,_ she thought, _that’s never happened quite so strongly._

“Why not?”

“Because,” she said, trying to follow the thread of her own logic out of this sex haze, “what if I’m not--not--” she paused.

“Not what, sweetheart?” he said, kneading her shoulders.

“Not the person you think I am,” she said.

“I bet you’re better with time,” he said, an edge of lust in his voice. “We’re still figuring things out. Just getting started.”

“Oh,” Darcy sighed. How could she explain it? “That’s not what I meant.” She wiggled. He slung his arms around her.

“You want to go to dinner?” Brock said. He kissed the side of her head.

“Okay,” she said. She pushed away her guilt. “I just need to get shoes,” she said, as he kissed her again. He’d started making audible smacking sounds, laughing as he went. It made her giggle. “Okay, okay!” she shrieked. Darcy pried herself from his grasp with difficulty.

“You better hurry, before I decide I want to eat you first,” he said in a low voice. She turned and looked back at him.

“You cannot do that to me,” she said pointing. “You stay there and don’t--don’t smolder at me like that, Brock Rumlow!” She tried to make her face serious, but her stomach was all fluttery.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, stepping forward. “Maybe we should rethink this plan, huh?” He smirked at her. He licked his lips and advanced on her. Darcy backed up and went through the door to her living area. He was basically chasing her now. She attempted to evade him, but ended up backed against the sofa bed. “Where you gonna go now, baby?” he said. He reached over and turned the dimmer switch on her lights.

“Shit,” Darcy murmured, as he took off his shirt. He looked so good. His muscles were chiseled and tan. She’d been less sober and observant the last time. She felt herself flushing. The lights dimmed more for a second in response. Frigga had always said Darcy’s magic was highly attuned to her moods.

“C’mere,” he said, holding his arms out. “I want to hold you.” A still-barefoot Darcy walked into his embrace. She was drawn to him inexorably, like being pulled by an undertow. She was going to drown in this lust. Brock put his arms around her. She ran her fingers over his muscular chest. “What?” he said.

“How are you so...so you?” she said. He was solid and warm. Darcy felt a kind of heady daze. 

“Lots of work,” he said. His grin was sly. Did he understand how wrecked she was, how beguiled? He leaned down to kiss her. Above their heads, music started to play from Frigga’s apartment. “That’s handy,” Brock said, looking up. Darcy looked up, too.

“Uh huh,” she said. She frowned slightly. “I think my aunt is playing matchmaker,” she admitted. She expected him to say something, but when she looked at him, she realized  he was looking at her with a charged expression.

“Remind me to thank her,” he said, wrapping his fingers over hers. He led her in a gentle slow dance, kissing her lightly. They swayed back and forth. His mouth was inviting. A good mouth.

“Mmmm, closer,” she said, when she was tired of craning to reach his lips. He smirked and dragged her to the couch. She found herself in his lap again.

 

Darcy gazed at him for a second, mesmerized by the way the light hit jaw and shaded his eyes. He stared at her. “Brock,” she said, feeling the guilt again.

“Shhh,” he said. Then he leaned forward, cupping her face. His thumbs stroked her cheekbones. She sighed, enjoying the feeling of his hands on her face. It was an intimate, erotic touch. She leaned into it. He smiled and traced his hands down her neck very slowly. The pressure of his calloused fingers made her have goosebumps. “You like this?” Brock asked.

“Yes,” she said. His thumbs stroked her clavicle and she felt a thrill of electricity through her body. She was entranced, as he moved in for another gentle kiss. The first one was soft, but she leaned in, sucking on his mouth to deepen it. His kisses grew more possessive and intense as they sat, entwined with one another. She tangled her fingers in his hair; he slipped his tongue in her mouth.

The tension built between them. Even the bed seemed softer and more yielding. She rocked in his lap, moaning, and he chased her mouth. She was wet now, she knew, from the throbbing heat between her legs. As if he’d read her mind, he stroked her, rubbing the thin fabric of her pants. “Oh, oh.” Darcy sucked eagerly on his upper lip and he grinned at her. She felt swoony when he smiled like that. “Oh God,” she whispered, “you’re going to kill me.”

“Am I?” he teased. He pulled her close so their bodies touched more fully, grinding against each other. She shivered when he cupped the back of her head to hold her still against him.

“Yes,” she groaned. He nodded. His gaze was dark. “Is it warm in here to you?” she asked, panting a little.

“Uh-huh,” he said. His fingers teased the edges of her shirt, brushing against her bare skin. It was tantalizing.  “Maybe we should get you out of these clothes.”  He was more intense this time, wilder, as he stripped her clothes off, grinning, as he threaded her panties down her knees. His hands ran over her bare skin, fondled her breasts.  “Where you want to be, sweetheart?” he said. She stared into his eyes for a second, transfixed. His expression was heated. She could burn under that gaze, She felt like she was on fire now, her heart racing.   

“With you,” she said. “I want to be wherever you are.” He looked at her for a second and then kissed her roughly. His mouth was greedy, eager. She unbuckled his pants. “I just want you,” she whispered, practically shaking as she touched him. Her hand dragged lightly over his cock. He shifted in response to her touch, helped get his pants off.

“Yeah,” he said, moving to pin her down on the couch. She shivered at the warmth of his naked body against her breasts and belly. She was aching now. He pushed into her and Darcy moaned in pleasure. He felt so good, she thought dizzily. There was no way this wasn’t magic, her mind registered. But she didn’t care. “Ah,” she said. As he surged inside her, she clung to him, digging her nails into his skin.

“You feel so good,” he said roughly. “So good.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she said, nodding frantically.

“I want you more than anything,” he choked out, rocking against her.

“Uhhhh.” She built to an almost-unbearable climax and then he pulled back. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t stop.” She pulled at his shoulders, trying to guide him back to her.

“You want me?” he said teasingly. His voice was light, but his chest rose and fell sharply. There was sweat on his neck. It was agony to be this close without him being inside her. The brush of his body against hers was like erotic torture.

“Yes, yes,” she begged. “Please.”  She’d never wanted anyone like she wanted him.

“Mmm,” he said. He pressed into her again and she moaned happily. This time, he was less controlled and it pushed her over the edge. Darcy came with a shudder, clenching around him. He grunted in response. It was deep, primal sound. His final thrusts were ragged and unsteady. He collapsed on top of her and they lay there for a moment, both breathing roughly.

“Brock,” she said, trailing her fingers over his shoulders.

“Hmmm, baby?” he said, turning his head so his lips brushed her cheek. She looked at him and wanted to say, _what if this isn’t real?_

 

But she couldn’t. She kissed him instead. Behind his head, some of the objects on her mantel wiggled happily. “What’s that face for?” he asked.

“You’re too cute, it’s annoying,” she said. He tilted his head at her curiously and his expression grew sly.

  


***

“Are they downstairs?” Loki said to Frigga, watching her record player rotate gently from across the room. Pyewacket purred in his lap and he conjured up a piece of golden string for the cat to play with. Pye batted at the glistening thread and Loki smiled. “Clever one,” he said.

“Yes,” Frigga said. She smiled brightly. “Things are progressing very well, don’t you think?” He nodded.

“When shall I re-introduce myself to Miss Hill?” he said.

“Oh, I don’t think you should, too much risk of her becoming skeptical or interested in your true identity,” Frigga said. “We should make it look like chance.”

“There’s risk in that, too. She’s a very remote sort of person, she may fail to seize opportunities,” he said. “We’ve met before.” His voice was dry.

“I am aware of your transgressions,” his mother said sternly.

“Sorry,” he repeated. Her expression was crisp. She could hold him to account with a kind of brisk gentleness when the occasion called for it. Far more effectively than Odin’s bluster and implied threats of dungeons, exile, or violence. He wiggled in discomfort. The cat’s tail twitched. “I am sorry,” he repeated. Frigga’s face softened.

“It cannot be helped,” she said calmly. “For now, we focus on the present. What shall we do first?”

“It is a conundrum,” he said.

“Both of them are so guarded! We’ll need to be prepared for a mutual panic when the attraction becomes apparent,” she said. There was a thump and laughter from downstairs.

“Someone is having fun,” he said, grinning.

“I believe he has just fallen off the couch,” Frigga said. “You know how Darcy feels about being tickled, I do not blame her for seeking retribution.” Loki laughed. The cat batted at the string.

“She really does need a better bed,” he told his mother. “I cannot imagine how she stands that liter.”

“She insists a small person doesn’t need a large bed, I find it quite perplexing,” Frigga admitted. “Should we add that to the list?”

“I think so,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been listening to Ultra-Lounge since this story has a mid-century movie as inspiration. Lots of fun: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UPXAzsvDP7k&list=OLAK5uy_lvTK7MXNaPY6CQ8a8OtXUJhrm73y-sic8


	7. Sharon Carter, Total Hot Mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos! They give me _liiiiiife._
> 
> ALSO: So this chapter was a bit difficult to write, because Sharon's emotions were hard to capture in dialogue in a kind of banter-y way, but I hope it works. Any awkwardness is the fault of your author and not Agent 13 herself.

“So,” Luki said to Sharon. They were having dinner after their second play. “You’re not the slightest bit curious?”

“No,” Sharon said, laughing. He kept trying to tempt her with matchmaking knowledge from his mother.

“Would you prefer someone in particular?” he asked wryly. “My mother would like to know. She has ideas on the subject.”

“What kind of ideas?” Sharon said.

“She thinks,” he paused delicately, “that—like myself—you are a person of a more flexible sexual disposition?”

“What?” Sharon asked.

“You might be happier with another woman?” he said.

“Oh,” Sharon stammered, feeling herself blush. “That.”

“You disagree?” he said.

“I’ve never dated women,” she admitted. “I’m not—not put off by lesbian sex or whatever, I’ve just never, uh, had the opportunity to, um,” she said.

“Dabble?” Luki said archly. She sighed.

“This is actually weird to talk about,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“My apologies,” he said. He gestured fluidly.

“It’s fine. I just,” Sharon said. “It's hard to explain?" He nodded. "I have difficulty connecting with people. I don’t know why. I try, but I get this feeling like no one actually likes me? When I was younger, I was really sarcastic and pissed off, so I know why people didn’t like that girl. But as an adult, I try and, uh, I don’t understand some jokes or get invited to things,” she said. “I have work friends, but no real close friends. Dating has always been awkward, too. I’m smart enough to sense how I don’t mesh well with people and it’s awful,” she said.

“Ah,” he said. He nodded. “That is a feeling.”

“When I found out about Thanos and the timelines, I thought maybe alternate timeline me might be more exciting, better,” Sharon said. “I wanted to be a warm person, someone who made other people feel comfortable.” She shook her head. “Someone who could connect, you know?”

“And?” he asked.

“She was just snapped,” she said, laughing awkwardly. “The exact same boring me. Dating Brock in this timeline was my big leap, my attempt to shake things up. My family is very uptight, very country club. I’ve told you about how my mother made me do cotillion and wanted me to join either the State Department or SHIELD, right? She wants me to be the Jackie O or the Grace Kelly of statecraft.”

“So, you attempted a diversion with Commander Rumlow?”

“Yeah. Kinda? Brock wasn’t like that, even if we were both more into work at the time. But he wants to settle down now and I--I'm not ready. It didn’t feel different in the right way. I thought maybe dating him would break my pattern of being boring and work obsessed, change my life, but—”

“Yes,” Luki said. “You’re still the same you, even with him.” She nodded. “Has it not occurred to you that there could be a reason for that?” he said, raising an eyebrow. He smirked and his eyes followed their attractive waitress suggestively. “A specific reason, Miss Carter?”

“Uh, that’s annoying, okay?” Sharon said, leaning in so the waitress wouldn’t overhear. “You sound like people I went to high school with. Just because I was sarcastic and took a women’s lit elective, it’s like, _oh, abrasive Sharon is a lesbian._ Being awkward and bitchy is not the same thing as being gay or bi, all right?” she said.

“Duly noted,” he said.

“It’s such a stereotype.”

“Yes.”

“It used to make me so pissed off when I was young.”

“Obviously.”

“Most of the gay people I know are much nicer than I am.”

“Yes, clearly it’s simply your personality,” he said.

“I’m too old now anyway,” she said.

“Pardon?” His expression was quizzical. “Too old?”

“I’m thirty four! You can’t sexually experiment at my age,” she said, leaning in to whisper again. “You do that in college. How could I tell someone I’ve never had sex with a woman before? They’d think I was a weirdo. Like, sad and depressing. Isn’t my life depressing enough?”

“Thirty four is a perfectly youthful age,” he said, looking wry.

“Then I’d be Sharon who kissed her aunt’s boyfriend, came out, and probably never met a nice woman, either,” she grumbled. “Oh my God, all the people going, _she tried being with women, but you know Sharon, people just don’t like her.”_ She did an exaggerated voice that bleated her name as _Shar-onnnnn._

“Who is that?”

“My aunt Janice, a total bitch,” Sharon grumbled.

“Fair enough, but inaccurate. I like you,” he said. “At one point, so did Captain Rogers.”

“Steve’s a giant goober,” she muttered. “I can’t believe I committed crimes with him and then he just bounced off and left everyone, like, Cap out!” Luki laughed, holding his chin in his hands as he gazed at her in amusement. Sharon gestured in frustration. “I hate being vulnerable, too,” she added. “Just the idea of trying to be with someone new? And admitting I have no clue what I’m doing? I would hate that!”

“You don’t say,” Luki said, grinning. “Would you like to try regardless?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now,” she grumbled. She hid behind the menu. “I want the carbonara, but I should probably have crab cakes. More protein.”

“Fine, drown your sorrows in dull chardonnay and crab cakes. Be exactly the woman your mother wishes you were,” he said teasingly.

“Ughhh,” she groaned. “I cut my hair once. Just to my shoulders. It was when I was doing surveillance on Steve. I didn’t think a nurse would have really long hair.”

“Yes?” he said, nodding.

“On every single social media post and every time I saw her, my mother made sure to mention how happy she’d be when it grew back, because _I have such beautiful hair, the prettiest hair in the family._ She always phrases it like a compliment, so you can’t argue,” Sharon said. “But I know.”

“Some parents are impossible to please,” he said.

“You know what the worst part is? I always cave. I grew my stupid hair back!”

“Why not do what you want?” he said.

“How would I even know what that is?” Sharon said.

“You’re thirty four. Isn’t it time to figure it out?” he said teasingly.

“Ughhhhhh,” she repeated. “Just let me die.”

“You’re very dramatic, you would have made an excellent actress,” he said. “Shall I have my mother set you up with someone?” The waitress came back.

“What would you like?” she asked them. There was a slight pause. Luki raised an eyebrow.

“Fine, sure,” Sharon said to him. She looked at the waitress. “I’ll have the, um,” she paused.

“What if you actually have the carbonara?” Luki said.

“The carbonara?” the waitress said.

“Yeah,” Sharon said, nodding. “I do want to try the carbonara.”

“Congratulations, you’re having the carbonara on...how is next Friday?” he said. As soon as the waitress walked away, he’d texted his mother.

“Wait, who is the carbonara?” Sharon said.

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you,” he said, smirking.

“Friday,” Sharon repeated.

 

On Friday, Sharon showed up as instructed. She stood outside the restaurant, practicing the breathing exercise she did to calm down before undercover work, and then seized the door handle and walked in. Her eyes scanned the restaurant and stopped when she saw the sole woman sitting alone. “Maria?” she said out loud. “Maria is the carbonara? Shit, shit,” she muttered.

“Can I help you?” the hostess said.

“I’m meeting someone,” Sharon said, gesturing awkwardly with her handbag. “I’ll just--I’ll just go over there,” she said. Her heart was racing. _Oh my God, oh my God. What do I do? We know each other!_ Her brain flailed. Maria looked up. Instead of looking surprised, she smiled at Sharon.

“Hi,” Maria said. “You’re early.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m, uh, always on time for things,” Sharon stuttered.

“Did you want to sit down?” Maria said, raising an eyebrow.

“I do, I do want to sit down,” Sharon said.

 


	8. The Cat Made You Love Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

Sharon was stuttering her way through an anecdote when Maria smiled. “Sharon,” Maria said, “you’re nervous. I’ve never seen you nervous.” 

“I—I’m new at this,” Sharon admitted. “Dating women, I mean.”

“I promise that it’s not any different,” Maria said. She looked coolly at Sharon. Then she leaned in close. “But I won’t ask you for a blow job,” she deadpanned. 

“Shut up,” Sharon said, utterly flummoxed by the contrast between Maria’s calm demeanor and the wicked gleam in her eye. 

“I thought someone who dated Rumlow would be used to that,” she told Sharon.

“I never realized you were this annoying at work,” she shot back. To her surprise, Maria laughed. “Besides, Rumlow is—” Sharon struggled to articulate her feelings.

“Too male?” Maria suggested.

“Too needy,” Sharon said. “Touchy feely.”

“So, you’re looking for someone independent who doesn’t always want to touch you?”

“That makes me sound awful,” Sharon said.

“More like a...cat person,” Maria joked.

They bickered all evening. It dawned on Sharon that Maria’s preferred method of flirting was just teasing her endlessly. At the end of the night, Maria looked at her. “I think we should fool around before you overthink it.” Sharon stared at her.

“Ye--yeah,” she said.

  
  


“Oh God,” Sharon said. She was in Maria’s bed. “I’m going to suck at this.”

“Hmmm?” Maria raised an eyebrow.

“Having sex with you,” Sharon confessed, feeling embarrassed. Maria looked at her. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You care too much about what people think,” Maria said. “More importantly,” she said, grinning, “you can just let me do things to you, that still counts.” She lifted Sharon’s skirt. “Aww.”

“What?”

“You wore nice underwear for our date, that’s cute,” Maria said.

“I always wear nice underwear,” Sharon said.

“Uh huh,” Maria said. “It’s things like that that make people think you’re a snob, Carter.”

“No, you don’t—oh God, that feels good,” Sharon said. Maria was touching her gently. “Oh.” Sharon arched her back. “You don’t understand,” she gasped out. “I wasn’t  _ allowed _ to wear anything but nice underwear. My mother made us dress up for dinner.”

“Like British people?” Maria said.

“We were British!” Sharon grumbled. “God, I hate England, too. No air conditioning and everyone says I smile too much.” Maria started to laugh. 

“I’m going to kiss you now, I hope that’s not too touchy feely for someone with your upbringing,” Maria said dryly.

 

***

Darcy was making coffee after dinner. Brock followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the door frame. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. “Did I do okay?” she said teasingly. He’d let her make dinner. “I’m not used to much beyond toast and baked potatoes for Jane and she eats whatever I put in front of her. I have to be careful it’s actually food,” Darcy explained. Brock was looking at her with an unusual expression. 

“I think we should move in together,” he announced. Darcy nearly dropped her coffee spoon.

“What?” she said.

“You can move in with me upstairs,” he said. “Haven’t you thought about it? Living together?”

“Well--” Darcy said. 

“All I want to do is be with you,” he said. “Whenever we’re apart, you’re all I think about, sweetheart.” He moved over to slip his arms around her.

“Oh,” Darcy said, feeling a deep pang of guilt. She’d spent the last week trying to figure out if his  affectionate reactions were normal or somehow the work of Pyewacket. This sounded suspiciously like the aftermath of a meddling cat.

“You don’t want to?”

“It’s soon,” she said. Darcy would need to tell him about her magic if they were living together.

“Doesn’t feel soon,” he said, sliding his arms down her belly. “You scared of commitment?” he asked teasingly.

“Maybe,” Darcy admitted.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “You don’t have to worry that I’ll bail on you, baby.”

“I’m more afraid you won’t like me once we’re under the same roof,” Darcy said, with more honesty than he probably realized. “What if there are parts of me that you don’t like?”

“I don’t think there’s anything about you I don’t want more of,” he said. His voice was practically purring. She knew that it had to be a spell.

 

He’d fallen asleep on her bed when she stomped upstairs to Frigga’s. “Hello, darling,” Frigga said. “Is something the matter?”

“You have to help me reverse it or he’ll never forgive me,” Darcy said mournfully.

“Reverse what?” Frigga said breezily.

“The spell! The spell on Brock!” Darcy hissed. “He wants to move in together.”

“How delightful,” Frigga said. A frustrated Darcy pushed her way into the apartment and began pacing. Pyewacket followed her.

“No,” she said. “Not delightful. I have to be honest with him. If he wants us to live together--”

“What do you want?” Frigga asked. Darcy stopped. Looked at Frigga across the room. Then she crumpled down onto the sofa.

“I want him,” she said. “Just him. That’s all I want.”

“Wonderful,” Frigga said. “I have a plan for your eventual wedding, darling.” Darcy groaned and put her head in her hands. 

“That’s not how this works,” she said glumly.

“It will all work out,” Frigga said, patting her gently.

 

Darcy decided she had to tell him the truth. Soon. But not at breakfast. She let herself enjoy that. He was affectionate and happy--every time she looked at him, he smiled. 

“Something wrong?” he asked. “You look nervous?”

“Can I come see you today at lunch?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” he said.

 

When she arrived at the STRIKE Alpha offices, though, Brock wasn’t the only one there. “Luki,” she said sternly. “Why are you here?”

“I was just paying a social visit to Sharon and stopped by to see Commander Rumlow,” he said mildly. Darcy looked at Brock. He smiled sweetly at her. Too sweetly. It was practically a beaming smile. That made Darcy highly suspicious.

“What have you done to him?” she asked.

“I have done nothing,” Loki said.

“We were having a nice conversation, sweetheart. What’s gotten into you?” Brock said.

“He’s put a spell on you!” Darcy insisted. “You and Frigga are meddling again, aren’t you? Look at his face”--she gestured at Brock--”he looks dopey! I’m here to reverse the first one and you’re adding more!”

“What?” Brock said.

“I have no idea what she is implying,” Loki said.

“My cat put a spell on you,” Darcy said. “But I’m here to reverse it.”

“Your cat?” Brock said. 

“I’m a witch,” Darcy said.  

“A witch?” Brock said incredulously. Loki snickered.

“Quite mad,” he murmured.

“I’m a witch,” Darcy repeated. 

“Honey,” Brock said. “I know you like, uh, those crystals and incense, but don’t you think spells are a bit far? I feel fine--”

“You ditched Sharon and you want to live with me,” she reminded him. “Practically overnight!”

“I do,” he said, holding his hand out. He smiled. “Because I love you.”

“The cat made you love me,” Darcy said. “We have to undo it and start again or one day you’ll wake up and hate me.”

“I don’t believe you,” Brock said, with an infuriating kind of mildness.

“You don’t?” Darcy said. He shook his head. “All right, I didn’t want to do this but it can’t be helped--show him who you really are,” she told Loki.

“That is a bad idea,” Loki said.

“He’s your cousin?” Brock said, looking befuddled.

“He’s not my cousin.”

“He’s not?” 

“Show him,” Darcy said firmly. Loki sighed.

“This wasn’t my idea--” he said, snapping his fingers to reveal his usual dark haired, green-clad appearance. Brock pulled a gun.

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled. 

“Frigga is Thor’s mother. She’s taught me witchcraft,” Darcy explained slowly, swallowing. A wild-eyed Brock looked at her. 

“You--your cat put a spell on me?” he repeated.

“Yes,” Darcy said, moving closer to him, “but, baby,” she began, before he held up a finger. 

“I need a damn minute to process this without him around,” he said, pointing at Loki. “He’s a fugitive!”

“I’m perfectly harmless,” Loki said idly. “Mostly.” He sighed. “I’ll go.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said. As he shimmered away, Brock swore. “Listen--” Darcy began. 

“I asked you to move in with me and you said no because of the spell, huh?” he said. 

“I was worried your feelings weren’t genuine.”

“My feelings?” he said, puffing up in offense. “I’m not the one putting spells on people!”

“That’s fair,” Darcy said, when she’d suppressed her wince. “So, just let me undo this--”

“You’re gonna undo it?” he said. 

“Of course,” she said.

“What if it changes my feelings?” he said. “I don’t want you to--”

“But I have to, it’s ethical,” she said softly. “You don’t really like me if it’s just the spell.”

“No,” he said. “I forbid you to undo it.”

“What?” Darcy said.

“I forbid it,” he repeated, looking mulish. “No more meddling in my feelings.”

“This is unmeddling!” she said.

“No.”  

“You are the most frustrating man,” she said. “I am trying to give you free will back.”

“What good is it if I go back to being unhappy?” he said. “I’m happy. Let me be happy.”

Darcy made a little sound of frustration, then smacked down the vial from her bag onto his desk.

“Whenever you’re ready, drink this,” she said. “I wash my hands of you, you stubborn---” He started to laugh. “What?” Darcy said.

“My Ma says that, ‘I wash my hands of you,’ has for years. You still want lunch?” he said, pocketing the potion and standing up smoothly. “Let’s go to lunch, sweetheart.”

  
Darcy muttered under her breath as he got a jacket. “You cursing me?” he said teasingly.

“How are you so calm?” she said.

“You see a lot of things in my job. Besides, I know my own feelings,” he said. 

  
  


They were at lunch when she sighed. “What?” he said.

“Just do it,” she said. “For me, so I don’t feel like I’ve tricked you or hurt you?”

“Sure,” he said calmly. He took out the vial, uncorked it, and smiled at her. “Everything’ll be fine,” he said.

 

Then he downed it. 

 


	9. Is That...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Darcy stared, waiting, as he swallowed. Brock coughed. “Eugh,” he said. “Looks like ink. Tasted like violets, sweetheart,” he said. He scrunched his nose.

“How do you feel?” she said anxiously. She felt herself lean forward. He looked at her. Tilted his head in thought.

“Like I want to run away and join the circus,” he joked. 

“Hu--” Darcy began. Then he smiled. 

“The same. You’re still pretty and everything. C’mere,” he held out his arms. “Come sit with me.” He gestured to his lap.

“We’re in a restaurant,” she said, mouth dropping open.

“So?” he said. “Unless you want to go have sex in the bathroom?” He grinned wickedly. Darcy felt his knee edging between her legs under the table. 

“What has gotten into you?” Darcy whispered. 

“Oh, I dunno,” he said. “I feel like myself. Maybe the un-bewitched version of me is a little more dangerous?”

“What?” she said.

“You didn’t think of that, did you?” he said. He reached over and took her hand, tugging her towards him. Slightly stunned, Darcy sat in his lap. “Didn’t think about it at all,” he said, eyes focused on her neck. He leaned forward to kiss her.

“No, I didn’t,” Darcy whispered. “That feels good,” she added, swallowing.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Brock, the waiter is coming,” Darcy said. People were looking at them, she had realized.

“Him too?” he joked in a low voice.

“Oh my God, you’re actually worse,” she said. She felt him laugh--it was a low rumble in his chest. His hands were busy digging into her hips. The waiter looked at them. “He needs more water,” Darcy said, trying to pretend this was totally normal and not an indecency crime.

“She’s very hot and I’m thirsty,” he said, loudly enough for the waiter to hear. The man started to laugh.

 

Once she’d dragged him out of the restaurant, Brock grinned at her. “You did that on purpose to embarrass me!” Darcy said, realization dawning.

“It’s fun to see you all flustered, you’re cute,” he said. “We moving in together tonight?” 

“You still want to?” she said nervously.

“Yeah,” he said, smirking. “You afraid I’ll get sick of you or something?”

“Maybe,” she admitted. “We should talk about things--” she began. He scoffed.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said breezily. “Come on.” He took her hand and walked towards the car.

“You’re very casual about these big, life changing decisions,” Darcy said. 

“I jump out of planes for a living, I’m not afraid of your voodoo dolls,” he said teasingly.

“I don’t have voodoo dolls.”

“Your rattiest pair of panties then, every woman’s embarrassed by that,” he said.

“Real you is a little bit of a wiseass,” Darcy said out loud. He laughed. Then he pulled her into his arms.

“But real me still loves you, sweetheart,” he said. He kissed her. “I’m still crazy about you,” he whispered in her ear.

“Oh thank the Norns,” Darcy whispered, then squealed when he tickled her. A passing shopper stared at them.

  
  


When they came home that afternoon, a party was already in full swing. Darcy unlocked the door and looked around, puzzled, at all the strangers. “Who are these people?” she said. The staircase was crowded with people, upstairs was obviously filled to capacity, and vintage music was playing from somewhere.

“You don’t know them?” Brock said.

“No,” Darcy said.

“The lady Darcy!” a voice called from the top of the staircase. 

“Well, I know him,” Darcy said, waving at the Asgardian warrior. “I think his name is Wulf? Or is it Brulf? But I’ve never seen him with a lampshade on his head.”

“This is a security risk,” Brock said grimly.

“Now he’s serious,” Darcy said dryly. “Let’s fight our way to my place, find the cat, and lock ourselves in. For safety,” she joked. She winked at him.

“Good idea,” he said, eyes gleaming. He looked as wicked as the cat for a second. They wedged themselves through the crowd at the door. 

“Oh look!” Darcy said. “Maria and Sharon are making out on the landing.”

“Huh,” Brock said, looking up. “I wonder when that happened?” he said.

“No idea, but twenty bucks says this is all Loki,” she answered, then managed to wiggle towards her door and unlock it. They shouldered their way in--Brock was helpful--and then locked the door behind them. Pyewacket was curled on the sofa, looking as relaxed as a cat who has claimed an entire apartment could look. “Ahhh,” Darcy said. “Blessed personal space.” Brock laughed.

"Blessed, huh?"

“I have a phobia of being trampled at a concert,” Darcy said. “I’ve seen things.” Above them, there was a wild flurry of footsteps. “Or an alien invasion,” she added. The noise stopped, then started again in a series of bumps and thumps.

“What the hell is that?”  Brock said. Pye blinked at the ceiling. 

“Asgardian dancing,” Darcy said. “Or someone knocking over a bookshelf.”

“You think the ceiling will hold?” Brock said.

“Loki!” Darcy yelled. There was a shimmer and Loki appeared before them, casually arranged against the mantle.

“You rang?” he said.

“Who let you watch  _ The Addams Family?”  _ Brock said, looking slightly nervous.

“I enjoy television,” Loki said. “Are we too loud?”

“No, but we’re concerned about the ceiling,” Darcy said. He swirled an index finger casually. 

“Reinforced,” he said, disappearing. “Enjoy yourselves.”

“Am I supposed to turn him in?” Brock said.

“Nope,” Darcy said. “Or I’ll break up with you.”

“Sure you will,” he said dryly. “Do you hear her?” he asked Pye. The cat meowed. He grinned at Darcy. “C’mere, baby.”

 

 

She was in his lap when she remembered to dim the lights and turn on the music with a wave of her fingers. “What happens next?” Brock murmured, lips on her cleavage. He looked as besotted as ever, she thought. Possibly slightly more alert. And, oh, she realized with a grin, he was alert. Very much so.

“No idea,” Darcy said. “Unless you want to introduce me to your family? You’ve met mine.” He looked up at her in alarm.

“Oh, no,” he said. “I forgot to call my mother and tell her about us.”


	10. A French Comedy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“This seems faintly absurd,” Maria said to Sharon. They were circling the block around the theater.

“Look, you can’t snitch on Loki, he set us up!” Sharon insisted. Loki had confessed who he was to both of them after the party. Too many people from Asgard had clapped him on the shoulder and winked for he and Frigga to keep up the ruse that he was Darcy’s actual cousin.

“I don’t mean that,” Maria said. “I always knew who Frigga was. I’m not stupid. And I’m certainly not going to tell Fury about Loki--do you know how much paperwork that would entail?”

“Wait,” Sharon said, before Maria got into forms and memos; she could talk about bureaucratic inconsistencies in vivid and hilarious detail. “What’s absurd, then?” Sharon asked.

“You and I are going to the theater with the Queen of Asgard, Loki, your ex-fiancée, his new girlfriend, and his mother?” Maria raised an eyebrow.

“Oh,” Sharon said, scrunching her nose. “I guess that is a little weird.”

“It’s like a French comedy,” Maria said, selecting a parking space. “We’re French now.” Sharon looked at Maria and broke into a grin. “What?” Maria said.

“You’re very French girl sexy,” Sharon said. “It would be annoying if we weren’t dating.” She opened the car door and climbed out.

“What is French girl sexy?” Maria said, when she shut her own door. 

“The alluring but frustrating ability to be more glamorous than me without looking like you try!” Sharon called back.

“Why are you running?” Maria grumbled. Sharon was several spaces away, although she hadn’t actually run.

“So you’ll chase me,” Sharon said, laughing. But she stopped and let Maria catch up with her. The two of them walked arm and arm up to the entrance. Loki and Frigga were chatting animatedly with Brock’s mother, Angela. Brock and Darcy were standing next to them, talking quietly.

“That’s her?” Maria whispered. “She looks...slightly overwhelmed?”

“Yeah,” Sharon said. “She’s probably too much of a New Yorker to be French, too.”

“Oh, Sharon!” Loki called, waving. “Come and join us. There’s Sharon and Maria.”

“We set them up,” Frigga said proudly. Sharon felt a weird little bubble of pleasure when Frigga looked at them like that. It was a warm, maternal expression. She looked shyly at Maria.

“Ready?” Sharon said.

“Always,” Maria said.

  


They were all sitting in the same row. Mrs. Rumlow still had that slightly stunned look. She looked at Sharon and smiled tentatively. “How are you?” she asked. She and Sharon had never meshed all that well, but it was kind of her to make an effort, Sharon thought.

“Great,” Sharon said. She heard Loki chuckle on her other side and elbowed him.

“Ow,” he said.

“Her elbows are lethal,” Maria said calmly.

“Everyone’s happy?” Mrs. Rumlow said. Frigga nodded.

“I think we’ve stunned Ma into politeness,” Brock cracked. He was sitting on his mother’s other side.

“Don’t you be rude,” Mrs. Rumlow said. “I’m sure you weren’t exactly innocent in all this.” She gestured.

“Hey,” Brock said. Next to him, Darcy had started to giggle. “I--I--” he stuttered.

“You’ve never been innocent in your life,” his mother said.

“Actually,” Sharon said, leaning forward, “he was fairly innocent. I should have broken up with him first. I was really, really bored.”

“What, is it everybody be mean to me night?” Brock grumbled.

“Don’t worry, babe, I don’t think you’re boring,” Darcy said, rubbing his arm.

“You should probably keep her,” Mrs. Rumlow said. 

“Yes, I agree. She has exceptionally low standards and is very easy-going,” Loki announced. “I’ve met her previous lovers.”

“Hey,” Brock said sternly, pointing. “Cut it out.” His other arm curled protectively around Darcy.

“Brock is quite right,” Frigga said regally, “everyone behave and read your programs.”

“I didn’t mean--” Loki began.

“Loki,” his mother said, “perhaps you or Sharon could tell us more about this one?”

“I believe it is about musicians from New Jersey,” Loki said.

“I saw them in concert once,” Mrs. Rumlow said. She sighed. “Frankie Valli. So handsome.”

“I still would’ve picked the Clint Eastwood movie,” Brock muttered to Darcy. She snorted. 

“You’re adorable,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. 

  


“I think that went well, don’t you?” Darcy said to Brock after it was all over. They were back at her place. He’d decided to move in with her, instead of them being upstairs. Loki was taking his apartment. He looked up from where he was collapsed on the sofa, petting the cat. She was getting him wine. He had a slight headache.

“Darcy,” he said. “I just spent two hours listening to people singing off-key in falsetto--”

“I kinda liked the audience participation,” Darcy said. His mother had known all the songs and sang along. “Your mom was adorable,” she said. He looked at her incredulously.

“Come here,” he said. “I love you.” Darcy laughed and sat in his lap. She passed him a glass of wine and he accepted it happily. “Ah,” he said, sipping. He sighed again. 

“What?” Darcy said, running her free hand through his hair.

“Loki and Frigga still have my mother. She’s gone off with my ex and my boss and half the Asgardian royal family to God knows where,” he said.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Darcy said. “Frigga is fairly responsible.”

“Uh-huh,” Brock said wryly. “Baby?” He gave her an intense, smoldering look. Darcy grinned. 

“Yeah?” she said.

“I’m very happy,” he said. “But let’s do some things without all those people, huh?”

“Sure,” Darcy said. “I like your mom, though. And it was interesting--”

“Interesting?” His expression was deeply skeptical. She nodded.

“I had no idea that Joe Pesci was friends with The Four Seasons,” Darcy said. He burst out laughing. “What?” she said. “He’s great.”

“Uh-huh,” Brock said. “You just make me happy.” She beamed at him as he rubbed her back. Then his expression turned intense again. “You know, we still don’t have a real bed.”

“I thought that made you more creative,” she said teasingly, leaning down to kiss him. 

“Good point,” he said, voice warm. She felt his hand clasp the zipper on her dress and slide it down. She sighed.

“You’re totally wrecking me,” she murmured, kissing his temple gently. 

“That’s the idea,” he said, shifting her weight to lift her skirt. “You’re gonna be the one bewitched by me now, sweetheart.”

“Too late,” Darcy said, nuzzling him. "I already am."

"Good," he said, voice throaty.

  
-The End-


End file.
